


Perfect

by veryveryverytemporarily



Category: Emmerdale, robron
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, First Time, M/M, Robron Week 2020, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24125560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryveryverytemporarily/pseuds/veryveryverytemporarily
Summary: Aaron and Robert meet for the first time on a photoshoot. Will Aaron help or hinder Robert's plans when he makes a big decision about his life.
Relationships: Aaron Dingle/Robert Sugden
Comments: 24
Kudos: 66





	Perfect

There must have been a reason why Robert arrived at the age of twenty-one still a virgin; some half-formed idea that your first time was meant to mean something and then it had gone on longer than he ever intended.

Of course, the press had loved it; hanging onto the railings outside the TV set where the teen drama that made him famous was filmed. Cameras flashing with one single purpose; to catch a shot of the purity ring that he wore on the fourth finger of his left hand.

He slowed from a run to a walk and reached for the ring where it still hung on a chain around his neck, leaned against the sea wall that looked out over the bay.

There were seagulls. He watched them soar over waves whipped up by the east coast winds. They looked happy enough – happy and carefree.

There was a frantic whispering behind him. Automatically he pulled his hood up and hunched his shoulders, waiting until the sound of footsteps receded. A glimpse of ankle socks and black school shoes on the newly tarmacked promenade, followed by a shrill voice screaming, ‘It is him; I told you!’

Alone again he clasped his hands together. His palms were sweaty, and not from the run; it was a big day ahead.

‘It’s too much pressure. If anything, it encourages more focus on the physical side of things; not less,’ his mum, Sarah, had said once upon a time. She hadn’t known he was listening outside the door. She’d held up a tabloid which had his picture on the corner of the front page, caught in the garden messing about with a hose pipe, the water gushing over him. He could see the headline still: _How long can teen heart-thRob keep himself cool as temperatures rise around him?_

He was fifteen at the time.

‘He should be able to live like a normal kid!’

But what was normal? How was he supposed to know even?

His dad thought the ring protected him. And his agent had loved it, pointing out the positives of a wholesome public image.

And then anyway everything had changed. His Mum had died. He’d painted on a smile for the cameras while the blackest times played out behind the scenes. Then there were the fights, and well, he’d been suspended from the show age seventeen, and he’d never gone back.

For a while there’d been Katie, and even though he wasn’t sure why anymore, they’d both agreed to wait until the wedding, and he’d thought he’d been redeemed. Even got a role with the Shakespeare Youth Company, a chance to relaunch his career.

But the paparazzi had got a picture of him leaving a hotel with the older woman in the fur coat, and she’d lied, and said they’d gone the whole way. Andy was waiting to take Katie away, the distance with his Dad became a chasm. He stopped showing up for rehearsals.

And now, a couple of years on, here he was.

He followed the smooth inner circle of the ring with his finger tip, elbows still resting on the wall. The tide was in. Maybe today was the day, he thought: How easy it would be to just unfasten the chain and let it fall into the cold grey waves, and after, to just turn around and walk away.

‘Where did you say you were staying?’

‘Filey.’

’At this time of year? And you’re staying in a youth hostel, did you say? Is there even one in Filey?’

‘A hotel.’

‘Well, who’s paying for that, love?’

‘It’s a job, like you’ve been banging on about? A photoshoot; all expenses paid.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe Paddy should join you.’

‘Mum, I’m seventeen, not seven. I’m fine. A couple of days and I’ll be back.’

Ever since she’d seen the dating App on his phone, she’d been on his case, doing his head in. So, what if he wasn’t old enough; he’d downloaded it more out of curiosity than anything. And anyway, he’d only used it once or twice and then deactivated, not because she was right, but because he’d got tired of turning down weirdos and pervy older blokes.

He walked into the dining-room, cutlery and linen laid out for breakfast service, sat down at an empty table. He flinched at the rare sighting of morning sunshine streaming in through the windows from outside, where seagulls divebombed hapless walkers hoping for scraps.

‘… _a flawless family hotel with a reputation for fine cuisine_ …’ Adam had read out loud on his phone as they waited to say goodbye at the coach station the afternoon before. He’d sucked his teeth. ‘Does that mean they have like really small portions?’

Aaron frowned over the breakfast menu, then asked for toast.

The photographer, Marc, had already sent scouts over a week before on a location search; the remote outdoors he wanted, sand dunes and haram grass, most of all privacy. And yes, he did know this was Costa del Yorkshire, but the natural light and the ambience were perfect for what he had in mind.

Aaron had caught up with him yesterday when he arrived, but he hadn’t met the model yet.

He was examining his plate with something approaching alarm, when the blond came in through the garden door; freckles, long hair, long limbs in a blue tracksuit.

He turned back to his breakfast, prodded cautiously with his fork at something on his plate that looked suspiciously like black pudding.

‘Need to put a name to perfection? Allow me to introduce myself.’

His eyebrows shot up; the blond was attempting to chat up the waitress.

He turned his chin discreetly so he could listen in.

From the corner of his eyes he could see that he’d raised both arms, curling his wrists to show off his biceps which as far as Aaron could tell were nonexistent.

‘See those guns? Those are for the ladies,’ the blond said, leaning way back in his chair. And then he puckered his lips and planted a kiss on his sleeve. ‘So, if you’re a lady, you could be in luck.’

Aaron either coughed or choked.

When the blond looked round, he banged a fist against his chest, indicating his plate.

Good for the waitress that she seemed quite savvy. She spoke with an Eastern European accent, gesturing with her pen.

‘So, what’s under the table, then?’

‘Oh, that’s for a special occasion. But play your cards right, and your name might just get added to the guest list.’

‘Let me know the date of the occasion, and I’ll pack my magnifying glass,’ she answered.

Aaron snorted again, this time he didn’t try to disguise it.

Their eyes locked, the blond with steely accusation as Aaron turned down the corners of his mouth. 

_What a dick!_

Arrogant - but not just that, the whole conversation had been a complete car crash.

But it was none of his business, he had more important things to think about. He inhaled a mouthful of tea, decided on one more piece of toast, and then checked his phone to see if Marc had sent a message about when they were due to start.

Back in his room, Aaron put on some black eye liner, picked up his key card and put it in his pocket, then pulled up the handle on his makeup case and wheeled it into the hall.

What he really wanted to do was work in the film industry; a chance to use his skills in silicone prosthetics. 

‘First, I’ll take a cast, and then make a replica, and then paint it,’ he’d explained to Adam that time he’d asked him to be a guinea pig.

‘A cast of what?’ Adam had asked nervously.

‘Well not _that,_ obviously! Your arm will do, you numpty! It’s a project, right, for my portfolio? And even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t….’

He’d kind of blushed. It was a long couple of years ago now since there’d been that confusing time which had eventually led to him coming out. The time he’d tried to kiss Adam, which still made him cringe inside when he thought about it.

‘It’s alright, you wally. I still love you, okay,’ Adam had said. ‘I think deep down I always knew, even if you were in denial about it. And now you’ll be able to find a nice bloke, yeah?’

Which was easy enough to say; he’d waited while all the kids at school moved on from one crush to the next, and then started to date. Until he felt like he was the only one still wondering what it was all about.

Then when he’d gone to college, all at once a load of blokes started to hit on him, and he’d agreed to see the ones he liked, and started exploring and enjoying the physical side of things.

But he still hadn’t had an actual relationship.

‘Honestly bro! You’re so picky! No one’s perfect, you just need to give someone a chance, yeah?’ Adam had said.

But what if there was someone perfect? It was just a feeling; but what if somewhere there was someone meant just for him? Wasn’t that worth holding out for?

He took the elevator up a couple of floors.

It had been his tutor’s gig, but then he’d got ill at the last minute and asked Aaron to go in his place. 'Male model, glamour,' he’d said, then added hastily, 'not _boudoir_ or anything like that,' while Aaron felt his throat flush threatening to spread up to his face. ‘And it’ll be good to have something else to put in your portfolio with that…’ he’d hesitated as if he was searching for the right word; ‘…prosthetic. So, make the most of it.’

‘Bro! Is he gonna be ripped?’ Inevitably Adam had teased him about it. ‘What if it’s love at first sight?’

He’d ignored him, of course, but he couldn’t deny the slight fluttering in his stomach right now. He knocked on Marc’s door, waited until it was opened, then stepped inside.

A big double bed dominated the small room. There were prints scattered over it of local bays and coastal paths supplied by the scouts, and Marc’s laptop open with the fan blowing hard. Above the headboard there was a glowering seascape of a fishing boat in trouble over turbulent waters. 

There was an old-fashioned dressing table with a folding mirror opposite the bed, and on the upholstered stool in front of it, sitting the wrong way round with his elbows balanced behind him, was the blond from breakfast.

Aaron turned back to Marc.

Even before he’d got the question out, he knew the answer; but it was too late, and anyway, by then he’d decided to enjoy it.

‘Where’s your model, then?’ he asked, looking searchingly about the room.

He saw the blond half close his eyes.

‘You know that meme…the one that goes … _oh hello it’s you… it’s going to be you_ …’ he said later, on the phone to Adam.

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, basically, it was that... only this was… _goodbye, it’s not you…it’s not going to be you_ …’

‘Oh man! I suppose you could just come back.’

‘Nah, I’d better see it through.’

The thing was there was something he hadn’t told Adam, something he felt he shouldn’t tell because it wasn’t about him, and it wasn’t really his place. And a model and a makeup artist, well, before anything else there had to be trust.

Trust? – His very first job and he’d blown it.

Of course, Marc had introduced them and Aaron found out who the blond was; Robert Sugden - he remembered something about a teen on a daytime TV show when he was in primary school.

‘Are you sure he’s qualified? How old is he? Looks like a twelve-year old.’ Robert asked.

‘Basically, your fan base, then.’

‘Why, are you planning on joining? Succumb to the inevitable?’

Their eyes locked again, just like at breakfast, until Robert looked down at Aaron’s makeup case.

‘What products are you using? Dior? Guerlain? M.A.C?’

‘Erm, Wet n Wild, and just Boots own brand, really. But they're alright.’

He thought back to the weekend, trying to slip disposable lip wands in his pocket while Adam turned on the charm with the girl at the chemists.

It was Marc who broke the impasse.

‘We’ve got an hour until the transport's here. Just get it done. And remember Aaron, raw and natural, alright?’

And then he’d gone, leaving them to it.

Aaron sighed.

So the model wasn’t what he’d hoped for. The best most generous description he could come up with for this one was your boy next door type - and he wasn’t feeling particularly generous.

But he needed to put that behind him now. He needed to stop thinking of Robert as a person, and focus on him as an art project; nothing more, just something to put in his portfolio.

He checked the lighting around the mirror and unzipped the makeup case. Robert sat forward, eyeing his reflection, a finger smoothing down an eyebrow.

He chose a nude primer for the blond’s eyes to start with.

‘Swivel.’

‘You what?’

‘Just move round to face me,’ he snapped.

He squeezed out some of the primer onto his finger tip, took a breath and started at last, dabbing the make up on under his eye.

Finally, they were both quiet.

He gently worked the primer into the corner of his eye, then blended down just onto the cheek bone, while the blond looked up at the ceiling with green eyes that changed every so often like turns of a kaleidoscope.

Now he was actually this close, the thing that struck him was how good he smelt. He must have showered, sat there now in faded jeans and a grey t-shirt, smelling like a field of flowers, or like strawberries and melon, like those cups of chopped fresh fruit that you got with a plastic spoon from the chiller in the coffee shop at college when you had a hangover.

‘Close your eyes a mo.’

He put some primer on his eyelids, picked up a brush and started to work it softly into his deep sockets.

The other thing was his skin. However reluctant he was to admit it, it was impressive. Fine, and poreless, just few hormone pimples on the T-line, he guessed his age around twenty. And then the glorious 3D effect that only freckles can bring, so you feel you’re looking into a sea of gold.

He sat back. He wouldn’t use primer on that, just some sheer foundation with uv protection and bronzer. Nude lips, he swallowed, shimmer on his eyes and eyeliner gel. He looked back at his jawline again.

He would need to blend down his throat.

He grimaced; he should have already thought of this. Rookie error. He cleared his throat.

‘Can you take your T-shirt off?’

‘And careful!’ he warned as the blond reached back pulling it up over his shoulder and off over his head.

It wasn’t a hot day, maybe it was where they were sitting with the sun coming in through the window pane, but the temperature in the room seemed to suddenly soar. And that fruit cup smell, now there was something sharp about it, making his mouth water when it was still hours to lunch.

He noticed he was wearing a chain that hung low down over the smoothest of smooth skin over his pecs. The chain seemed the safest thing to look at. There was a ring on it. And then he saw the writing: _True Love Waits._

He blinked. He’d never seen one before, but he knew instantly what it was.

It was so unexpected.

And in an instant all the things about Robert that had jarred seemed to make more sense; the awkward chat up lines for a start.

His mind flashed back to breakfast; so when the blond had said, ' _That’s for a special occasion,’_ he wasn’t joking: - he’d actually meant it!

Robert had raised his hand to cover the ring, his eyes watching Aaron’s face.

He thought about saying something - something along the lines of... _Look, I don’t judge, alright? Whatever people choose to do, or not to do, as long as it feels right for you and doesn’t hurt anyone else._ But somehow he couldn’t quite say the words aloud.

‘You’ll need to take it off.’ He gestured vaguely in the direction of the chain. ‘Maybe keep it in your pocket?’ he added gently.

He watched his long fingers move to the catch of the chain, then open it.

Of course he was still a dick. It wasn’t as if the ring made him a better person, or a worse person.

But it did make him a more complicated person.

And then Robert had turned again towards him, holding the ring out.

‘Will you take it for me? I won’t be able to wear it on the shoot, and I need someone to trust with it,’ he said. ‘Can I trust you with it?’

Aaron swallowed.

‘Course you can, course!’

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, this is the first thing I managed to write for ages. I haven't given up on my other stuff I just got writer's block so hopefully doing something different will help xx


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